The Times News

The Blue Door

Ruth Woodson, pretty, high-spirited girl of 12, in search of work, seeks refuge from a storm in an old stone house with a blue door in the little town of Worthville. The queer old caretaker, Bertha Gibbs, also known as Penny, thinks Ruth is Elaine Chalmers, whose grandfather built the house. Ruth falls in love with the young man next door. John McNeill, and resolves to stay on a while, posing as "Elaine." Elaine at Graycastle College, vows in a sorority meeting to win the love of her childhood hero, John McNeill. She plans to go to Worthville, and writes John a letter telling of her intentions. She goes to New York for a week-end and learns from her mother, Gwen Deal, that her uncle, Duncan Hunter, has escaped from an insane asylum. John worries about "Elaine," being alone in the old Hunter house with Penny. He received Elaine's letter and realizes that the girl he has been calling "Elaine" is a fake. However, he loves her and plans to tell her so, but receives a telegram telling of an accident in his sister's family in Washington and asking him to come. John departs for Washington, first leaving with Penny a note addressed to Ruth and asking her to wait for his return.

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CHAPTER XXV

Worthville was proud of its train service. Long ago Silas Hunter had routed his trains through the town and built an imposing depot. One could reach the little city on through trains, without hardship.

Stepping from a Pullman coach at 9 o'clock Tuesday morning, a beautiful girl, wearing expensively simple travel clothes and an alert expression, tipped the porter and looked around for a taxi.

When a driver presented himself, she indicated half a dozen bags at her feet and directed crisply, "The Silas Hunter house on Garfield avenue." She had had no breakfast and was feeling rather like a martyr who has undertaken a pilgrimage of great hardship for the good of the world.

Thus Elaine Chalmers arrived for her campaign to win John McNeill's heart.

When the taxi turned in at the Hunter gateway the appearance of the place dismayed her. She had not been quite prepared for such unkempt grounds, such a look of neglect and desolation, The old house was peeling paint, its porch was sagging. and its front door-of all things!was covered with fresh blue paint!

She got out and the driver piled her bags around her on the porch and left her there. Almost before her knocking had died away, the door opened a crack and a wrinkled old face peered out.

Elaine exclaimed, "Penny!"

"Eh?" said old Bertha in surprise.

"It's me, Penny; It's Elaine Chalmers, I wrote you I was coming, and here I am! Come help me get these bags in. Aren't there any other servants here at all?"

It was the girl's imperious manner that brought memories flooding back to old Bertha Gibbs.

Eight years rolled away like mist and she saw and heard again an impatient 12-year-old girl with yellow curls and flashing dark eyes demanding warmer water for her bath.

The old woman said in perplexity, "Stand still and let me look at you." She drew the girl into a patch of pale autumn sunlight and peered at her intently.

"Would you mind speaking again?" she asked then.

"Not at all." Elaine Chalmers laughed. "I've every intention of speaking. I want to come in and have a bath. I want breakfast. I've just gotten off the train and I feel perfectly rocky." She began to gather up some of the bags and move toward the door with them.

"Wait, I'll help you," Bertha said. When they had them inside Bertha urged pantingly.

"Will you go into the drawing room and sit down? Your room's not ready."

"Not ready?" Elaine said sharply.

"Why not? You knew I was coming, Penny!"

The old woman was in a quagmire of perplexity. She wondered if she'd fallen asleep in an uncomfortable position and was having a bad dream. It could hardly be true. Two girls in the house at once, both calling themselves Elaine Chalmers! She said aloud, "But you're the real one! Yes, you're the real one!"

"Certainly I'm real,' replied Elaine, made cross by the queer remark. "My head couldn't ache like this if I weren't real."

"I mean," explained Bertha growing more excited, "that the other's a pretender and a liar. She's fooled me."

"What other one?" asked Elaine blankly.

"The one that came the night of the big rain, claimin' to be you."

"Claiming to be me?" What utter nerve! What did you do with her?"

"I took her in," Penny said, "and gave her your room."

"Penny, you old fool! Do you mean you're that simple?"

"I don't see good any more." Bertha explained in self-defense. "There was your letter sayin' you'd be here for a rest. And there come this girl, almost on the heels of it. She's been here ever since."

"Do you mean she's here now?" asked Elaine Chalmers, incredulously.

"Yes. Upstairs. She had her breakfast and went up stairs. She keeps pretty busy."

Elaine, who had been sitting on the edge of a chair, jumped to her feet excitedly.

"Phone the police Penny! No, you haven't a telephone, of course. Wait! I'll go get the police myself-"

Something within Bertha's brain came to attention at that word "police." The amazing situation of having two Elaine Chalmers contending for her recognition suddenly became as nothing to her. The only thing that mattered was the unhappy man on the third floor who padded desolately from room to room and couldn't sleep. The one who had been her charge as a little boy and who was again her charge. No, those blue-coated men should not enter this house and threaten his safety! Let this thing be settled some other way.

To the angry girl pacing the floor with revenge in her eyes, Penny said placatingly. "The one upstairs is a nice quiet little thing."

"Oh, she's that sort, is she? Thieves often are."

Bertha said, "I don't think she's a thief, I've not missed any money out of my purse.'"

"Then why is she here? What's the idea?'

Bertha rubbed her chin and answered honestly. "That I can't say. Miss-Miss Elaine." It was confusing to shift suddenly to calling this one Miss Elaine. even though she was the rightful owner of that name. Indeed it was all confusing. and worse. It had been hard enough to have one girl underfoot to complicate her care of poor, sleepless Mr. Duncan. What she would do with two of them now, God only knew. Maybe they'd turn the house into a battlefield.

She said, "I hope you'll forgive me for being taken in like that. Though I'm not such a fool as I look. Mr. John was taken in, too."

Elaine grew quietly attentive.

"You mean John McNeill?"

"Yes, Miss Elaine. The girl fainted the day she came and I called him to help me carry her upstairs. Ever since then we've both called her by your name."

"Does he see her often?" Elaine asked. This was important.

"A good deal," answered Bertha with reserve.

"Just how much is a good deal. Penny?" Elaine asked sharply. "I want to get this thing straight."

"Well,' replied Penny reluctantly, "I'd say he's seen her every day since she's been here. Sometimes twice a day."

"Hitler's great aunt!"

"What say?" Bertha asked.

"I said plague the luck!" Elaine retorted. She had visions of an unfulfilled vow, and herself the laughing stock of the Terrible Ten. In a moment, however, her natural feeling of optimistic superiority asserted itself. She'd dispose of this girl and expose her. She'd laugh at John McNeill for being taken in by her. But not too much, of course. Men hated being made fools of themselves . . .

She thought, "He must be sentimental over her if he sees her that often. But nothing incurable. Half his thrill comes from. believing her to be me. She can't be as good-looking as I am, and she can't know as much about handling men. I think I can take him over!' Her chin was up.

There was in her blood the same love of conquest that led her grandfather, Silas Hunter, build railroads and hold them.

"Take me up to her, Penny!" she commanded.

Bertha was thinking as rapidly as her weary, never-too-good brain would function. She said soothingly, "come into the dining room first, Miss Elaine, and have a cup of coffee. A body's not hardly fit to argue till they've had their coffee. I'll run a pan of rolls in the oven for you and open a jar of preserves. You used to like my damson marmalade for breakfast."

"Did I?" asked Elaine. still engrossed with her purpose but lured by the thought of breakfast.

"Oh, well, have it your way, Penny."

She went into the dining room and sat down at the big walnut table. While Bertha prepared breakfast Elaine smoked a cigarette and drummed her fingers on the table. The room held her amused attention. Its furnishings were so stiffly. Victorian, so blatantly ugly that they intrigued, her. And yet the proportions of the great high-ceilinged old room were excellent.

"Wouldn't it be screamingly funny." Elaine thought, "if John McNeill and I should fall in love, really seriously, and decide to live here and do the old house over! I'd bring a decorator out from New York and do the thing right. Modified Victorian. Leave the little marble mantles. But I couldn't bear to stay here more than a couple of months out of a year . . . . I wonder if John would be hard to handle!"

Again there came back to her a surge of memories concerning the good-looking boy next door whom she used to worship. He'd been indifferent and unattainable in those days. It would be heavenly to have a slave of him now and punish him for that 16-year-old indifference. Suddenly it seemed to her to be the only thing worth doing.

Bertha came in with the tray then. serving the meal with pacifying words and gestures, as one would step around a handsome cat that one wished to mollify.

Then, when there was no more for her to do. the old servant went out of the room and climbed to the third floor by means of the back stairs. She must warn Mr. Duncan that there was another person in the house to menace him.

To her surprise, Duncan Hunter was lying on his bed asleep, and looking as rested and as undisturbed as he had looked as a boy.

Bertha Gibbs closed the door of the room and went down to the kitchen again.

(To Be Continued)

A social revolution always brings the common to the top.
Look at ham and ogss.